


Captain’s Guide to Being a Vassal

by orphan_account



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Armor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Plot/Plotless, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, for the gamers of culture out there who like to see percy a little helpless, mute!Gran, older gran (still dorky), playing around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 01:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17356442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A duty of a vassal was to ensure your lord does not get lost in a book until the late hours. And as captain, it’s your job to tell the idiot staying up late to go to sleep.





	Captain’s Guide to Being a Vassal

As captain of the crew, Gran saw to it to make a final round about the ship before he turned in for the night. Was it necessary? No, perhaps not- years after being captain, and he still was not certain if he was doing a good job. But it did give him peace of mind to see his crewmates- np, his friends and allies- turning in for the night or prepping for a long night of work. A small smile and a wave, or a quiet acknowledgement standing in front of the door of someone long asleep- each stop offered him the tiniest bit of peace until all were accounted for.

 

Granted, he did have a specific order for this, if he could help it. He tried to see the ones that fell asleep earlier first. The ones with the longest interactions and the ones staying up all night would come last.

 

A soft glow underneath Percival’s door at the latest hours of night confirmed to Gran that he would be both. He stood before the door for some time- should he continue his rounds and come back later, or should he head in now? He was certain he already stopped by before, and Percival had offered a passing acknowledgement- literally, book in one hand, dinner in the other. He placed his hand on the door, surprised to find that it opened to his touch. Concerned, Gran allowed himself entrance, unsure of what to make of Percival’s unusual carelessness.

 

He entered to be greeted by the sight of vibrant red hair illuminated by a sole candle. Percival, working the night away- a bad habit he seemed to be picking up as of late. Gran puffed in annoyance.

 

That, at least, garnered Percival’s attention from the novel he so aptly read. Gentle, warm curls of lava brushed against his neck as he raised his head. Gran’s fingers twitched- he wanted to run his hands through it, see if tips of his fingers would ignite with the slightest graze. Given the tired look in Percival’s eyes, however, all attempts would be stubbornly smacked away.

 

“Why are you awake at this hour, captain?” his voice was quiet, but held no small amount of amusement within. He only specifically called Gran “captain” when he was teasing. No doubt he noticed how long Gran had stood outside his door.

 

Gran shook his head before gesturing to Percival’s state of dress, ‘You’re one to talk.’

 

Percival had neglected to change from his armor since their mission earlier that day had ended, or rather, since a book caught his eye in a storefront they had walked past. Gran never got to see the title, but admittedly the small, sparkling designs of flora upon its green cover caught his eye as well.

 

Percival blinked in owlish confusion, before cursing quietly to himself and rising from his seat. “I… lost track of time,” he admitted, closing the book he had no doubt spent the entire day within. There were some hastily scrawled notes on the table next to him, even his laziest handwriting was undoubtedly neater than anything Gran’s best. He most likely had already read it several times, committing each word to memory.

 

‘That’s not like you.’

 

He lowered his gaze in mild embarrassment, placing the book aside and rubbing his eyes, “I know.”

 

Perhaps not embarrassment, but rather too tired to put up appearances. It made sense, especially when coupled with heavy armor, and a day of reading a book in a concerningly uncomfortable position (which Percival was notorious for- Gran had seen him sitting in all sorts of manners across the ship. Then proceeding to complain he was sore for hours later.) A small pang of sympathy graced his heart- Percival didn’t ask to be cursed with the inability to sit properly. He’d take pity, just this once, Gran thought.

 

Gran patted the couch which Percival stood next to, ‘Get comfy. I’ll get you out of that.’ Percival scrutinized him.

 

“You’re mocking me,” Percival accused. Gran pouted. “You clearly are.”

 

Annoyed with his grumpy attitude worsened by the late hour, Gran pulled him by the arm onto the couch. Percival complied and plopped down, rather ungracefully for someone of his station, but crossed his arms and continued to stare at Gran suspiciously.

 

Removing the armor on Percival’s legs was rather uneventful, aside from the fact that, with every piece, he began to relax more as he realized Gran was being genuine. Perhaps Gran teased him a little more than he should. Maybe this was not a thought he should be mulling over as he simultaneously removed the knight’s greaves and pinched the back of his legs, meeting a surprised glare with a simple smile.

 

As Gran removed the cuisse pieces on his upper leg, he offered a small apology by patting the area when he was done. Percival uncrossed his arms, finally choosing to relax entirely against the couch. That’d make the process easier… probably. Stepping back, he realized there wasn’t much room to maneuver around. ‘Your armor is absurdly big. And pointy.’

 

Percival sighed, “And?”

 

‘I need to lean on you for the rest.’

 

A look of concern may have passed over Percival’s face, or perhaps it was merely Gran’s imagination. Either way, he stiffly made room for his vassal, who quickly acted upon his own request. A quiet _and_ compliant Percival was a rare indulgence.

 

Cerise irises tracked his every movement with sharp precision despite the exhaustion tugging at his eyelids. Percival watched with a quiet interest as Gran began to unbuckle his right pauldron (needlessly ornate, in his “humble vassal” opinion), moving with a slow but certain purpose. Gran, a bit too carelessly, placed the object on the floor with a notable _clank_. A smile curled about his lips when Percival muttered in annoyance, but did nothing to correct the action.

 

The left one remained, so Gran made to switch sides. He pressed a hand on Percival’s lean abdomen, mouthing an apology when air gushed from the knight’s lips at his weight, before making to remove the left pauldron. Another satisfying clank on the floor, another long look from Percival.

 

With his shoulders cleared of the massive, ornate pauldrons- Gran signing to Percival ‘they’re really obnoxiously massive’ lead to a long, annoyed sigh – he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Percival usually held over half a foot above Gran standing, but sitting on the couch brought the knight down to Gran’s level. Thankfully, he did not have to climb on Percival like a tree for the remaining pieces on his neck and around his arms.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Gran shook his head. ‘Just thinking.’

 

The most satisfying part were the pieces on his arms. Each one only required a few, simple buckles to be undone before the piece slid off his arm onto the floor. Each time, Gran was entertained, and Percival began to grow amused with his actions. It spoke miles, considering removing his armor was possibly one of the most mundane things he has ever done in his life. A tired smile was etched upon his face, giving the appearance of a cat when coupled with his narrowed eyes, heavy with exhaustion.

 

Gran darted in to pinch his cheek, met with a light smack on his wrist. They stared at each other, Percival threatening more to break into laughter than violence with his barely contained smile. Darting in again, another smack, a shorter round of staring. Gran narrowed his eyes, Percival copied the movement, finally speaking with a low, firm, “Don’t you _dare_.”

 

Gran grinned, wiggling his fingers threateningly.

 

“No, it’s too late. You’ll wake everyone up.”

 

‘Because somebody in here laughs like a gorilla,’ it was barely understandable, with how much his body shook in amusement at his own prod. But Percival clearly understood enough to shoot him a glare. Gran shrugged and raised his hands in mock surrender, keeping to himself that maybe the laugh was a little cuter than he would admit.

 

Percival sighed and leaned upon the couch once more, “Just finish the job you asked to do.” As Gran placed a knee on the knight’s side, he heard some mumbling along the lines of cursing him with an ugly smile when he grew old. A snort darted from his nose and he hid his quaking amusement in Percival’s shoulder. A hand ruffled his hair and the breath of a sigh tickled his ear as Gran composed himself. He leaned back to pat Percival on the shoulders before resuming his work.

 

He turns his attention upwards once more, eyeing Percival’s golden gorget that rested upon his neck and shoulders. ‘Function or fashion,’ Gran teased with a smile and an overexaggerated flourish of his hands. Percival shot him a harmless look which he merely shrugged off. Then, he attempted to wiggle his fingers underneath the unfamiliar armor, pausing as his fingers pressed against the skin of Percival’s neck.

 

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Percival was warm, he had touched the man often enough, but this was… different, somehow. If Gran rested his palms upon Percival’s face, would it be just as warm? Were some places warmer than others?

 

Percival clearing his throat interrupted any further train of thought along this line. Gran continued, gingerly removing the piece with a smile, ignoring muffled complaints as he edged it past Percival’s face. His hands brushed through the embers of the knight’s hair, the sensation startling him to drop the heavy piece carelessly onto the floor. Percival jumped in surprise, upsetting the delicate balancing act Gran held between the couch and Percival’s lap. Wobbling, he quickly leaned onto Percival’s chest for support, heart racing.

 

The rich, oaky smell of a freshly extinguished flame clings to his clothes. Gran gently tugged at the fabrics, ignoring the stifled breath in response. It was warm- every inch of him radiated a welcoming and pleasant warmth- his hands slowly dragging up Percival’s chest to absorb every inch of it. Curiosity drove him more than any purpose at this point, his fingers beginning to work at buttons when the thought of Percival possibly being even warmer beneath his regalia crossed his mind. _His_ knight stretched his neck away, the opportunity quickly snatched up by Gran’s explorations.

 

Fingers gently massaged Percival’s neck, Gran pressing his body against his lean frame to better accommodate himself. A flicker of a smile ghosted his face as his finger-tips brushed past curls of crimson, strands falling off the fingers they desperately clung to. Gran’s gaze made a pointed turn away from Percival’s eyes- a single glance from the knight would undoubtedly send him on a far less productive route. Instead, his gaze focused on Percival’s features, mouth slowly wavering into a focused pout upon his examination- from light dusting of freckles on the knight’s nose and down to half parted lips. They looked soft. He wanted to press his thumb against the flesh and see if it truly would yield to him so easily. His mind began to race with thoughts of other things Percival may be pliant to, pulse pounding faster in his ears with each consideration.

 

Gran spared a single glance towards Percival’s face, risking everything. An expression Gran had never seen before on Percival was unraveling before him-it was captivating. His knight was looking away, eyes glazed and half-lidded, pupils dilated. He was biting his lips, face flushed, hands clenched at his sides, making a façade of barely maintained self-restraint. Percival’s composure was on a thin, strained wire. He knew then and there, he could do anything to _his_ lord and it would be reciprocated.

 

As this thought crossed Gran’s mind, he subconsciously tightened the grip his legs held around Percival, pressing his body more firmly against him before dragging his hands back down to Percival’s chest, pushing softly. The two seemed to sink against the couch- no, his lord merely sank down at his request, crimson hair blossoming before Gran as it lay upon the cushions. Percival closed his eyes in concession as Gran ran his fingers through the flames, breathing heavily and patiently awaiting his next demand.

 

Feeling a rush of excitement onset by his lord’s welcoming actions beneath him, he minutely, just barely, rolled his hips forwards, releasing a low, shaky breath as warmth began to curl in his stomach. Percival muttered something unintelligible under his breath, moving his hands beneath Gran’s shirt, resting them upon his waist with a feather-like touch. He shivered at the warm touch. His hands moved upwards, resting on his lord’s chest, pushing against it as he, once again, rolled his hips. This time, Percival arched into the sensation with a deep, husky groan, vibrating throughout Gran’s body. Finely manicured nails dug into his flesh, threatening to break the skin.

 

The sudden, sharp pain snapped him from his trance-like state, bringing him to the reality of _what are you doing_. Gran immediately leaned away in mortification. Percival’s eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion and an unfamiliar emotion, but no less exuding a massive amount of humiliation mirrored in Gran’s face.

 

“Vassal, I can…” Percival struggled to regain control of his voice, “… I can finish undressing myself,” he stated firmly, releasing a breath he held for too long. Gran ducked his head away shyly, embarrassed by his shameless behavior.

 

Gran coughed, rising from the couch and straightening his shirt. ‘Good night,’ he gestured sheepishly, feeling his skin burn. He didn’t spare a glance to see if Percival got up, let alone if his job was even completed. He made a quick escape and did not release the tension from his shoulders until long after the door clicked shut behind him. He sunk to his knees and buried his face in his hands- he had it _bad_.


End file.
